“You see I can’t leave yet, Suki, I only just found him and—”
“No, no, you can’t leave,” she agrees. “This is perfect—this is wonderful—this is exactly the kind of fated love story people want to read about.”
I didn’t know Suki was capable of sounding so animated.
“Well, not necessarily a love story yet, it’s all so new . . .” I say, in a feeble attempt to temper her enthusiasm. “But a good meet-cute in any case.”
“Laura, the greatness of a love story is not determined by the amount of time a couple have spent together—just look at Romeo and Juliet, Rose and Jack, Marius and Cosette—these people barely spend five minutes together before turning their lives upside down for one another. No, this is fate, this is destiny, this is love at first—luggage!”
I’m annoyed she’s said that. Now she’s going to take credit for that phrase, and I had already thought of the “love at first luggage” tagline.
“Well, I—”
“This could be a good enough hook to land a feature in a broadsheet magazine, great publicity for our brand. It could even go international: ‘Love Life’s lead journalist, unlucky in love and still carrying the emotional baggage from her mother’s death, resigned to a life of writing other people’s love stories, unwittingly finds her own . . . in a suitcase!’ ”
I feel myself frown—I wouldn’t have said I was unlucky in love or carrying emotional baggage.
“Leave it with me,” Suki says in a singsong voice. “I’ll work out how we can maximize coverage—you stay as long as you need to seal the deal with your Suitcase Man. If you pull this off in the way I know you can, we’ll have to talk about that promotion again. You know how much I appreciate it when people go above and beyond for a great story.”
I’m about to clarify that I wasn’t pursuing Jasper for the story, I was pursuing him because I genuinely felt he was the man I was supposed to be with. Is the man I am supposed to be with, I mentally correct myself. But before I can say anything, Suki has hung up.
What just happened? It feels like a good thing, in that I avoided getting fired and my boss mentioned the word “promotion,” but part of me can’t help but feel nervous about tying my work and my personal life so inextricably together.
Suki: Pictures we’ll need:
The suitcase
The suitcase contents
You and Suitcase Man kissing
You and Suitcase Man embracing by the luggage carousel, holding your cases in the air, ideally with your leg kicked up in excitement.
What have I started?
Suki: You can look quite pretty when you make an effort—expense a makeover, hair, etc. I don’t want any beekeeper bollocks in these shots. If this goes national, we don’t need any of your kooky eccentricity.
Kooky eccentricity? Now that’s just rude.
Suki: On second thoughts, I’m sending Dionne and Saul out on the first flight on Monday. We need professional, glossy shots for this. Get your man on board for press ASAP.
Dionne and Saul are a stylist and a photographer Suki uses for big product shoots. They’re expensive; they style all the minor royals. If Suki’s sending them, she’s serious about putting this story everywhere. How the hell am I going to sell this to Jasper? He’s a lovely guy, but this kind of publicity parade might be enough to put anyone off.
TIGER WOMAN ON QUALIFIERS
When tigers have something to say, do they work on a draft? Do they litter their message with niceties: “yours sincerely,” “thank you,” “please”? No. They do not. Women constantly undermine themselves with qualifying phrases like, “Sorry,” “I’m no expert but . . .” “I just wanted to check,” “I might have an idea.” Change the words you use, and you will change the way you are seen: I am not sorry, I am an expert, and I’m certainly not “yours,” sincerely or otherwise.
Chapter 24
I’m not going to pull Jasper out of his own mother’s party just to pick me up, so I order a cab to take me to Maude’s house. In the car, I tap out an apology to Dee:
You know I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sorry. I’m on my way to see Jasper now. XXX
At my request, the cabdriver stops at one of the honesty boxes by the side of the road, a small stall selling vegetables and flowers. I can’t imagine anything like this working in a big city. Checking I have the right change, I pick up a bunch of “modern pinks” for Maude and put the money in the box.
When I arrive, I can hear people out back, so I walk around to the garden. Jasper is chatting away to an elderly lady in a wheelchair while holding a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of champagne. He’s laughing kindly at something the woman is saying, and I feel instantly glad that I came.
He looks up and sees me across the garden and his face breaks into a huge smile. I wave, not wanting to interrupt his conversation. He says something to the lady in the wheelchair, and she waves both hands at me in delight. Jasper bounds over and kisses me on both cheeks.
“You came,” he says. “How did you know where to come, I forgot to send you the address?”
“Oh, um, Google. I am a journalist.” I half laugh, half sigh.
Jasper tilts his head in concern. “And are you feeling better after a lie-down?”
I nod, prickling with guilt as I think about the nature of my “lie-down”—in the sand, with Ted on top of me, his mouth against mine.
“You look flushed, Laura, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, fine, thank you, feeling so much better.” I pinch my lips together, annoyed at my face for giving me away.
“Let me introduce you to my family. I’ve already told them all about our suitcase story.”
Jasper ushers me over to Maude, who is seated at the patio furniture, talking to Keith and a lady with messy gray curls. At the far end of the table are two women in their thirties who look alarmingly like Jasper but with Kate Middleton’s physique and wardrobe. They both have long dark hair, the same dimpled grin, and aristocratic posture. The taller of the two has a long string of pearls around her neck, and the other wears some eye-catching orange earrings.
“Laura, this is my mother, Maude,” Jasper says, making introductions, “Keith and his wife, June, then two of my sisters, Jocelyne and Juliette, who are over from the UK for the day.”
The sisters both hold up a hand in greeting. Keith eyes me suspiciously, recognizing me from the fete.